


Before the Dawn

by ThatClumsyGirl



Series: Home of the Free [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Pre-Slash, aftermath of WW1, discussion of suicide, mentions of period-typical homophobia, rated t to be on the safe side, they both have some dark thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 06:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18463544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatClumsyGirl/pseuds/ThatClumsyGirl
Summary: On a rainy November night in London, Thomas finds someone he wasn't even looking for.





	Before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a series. There'll be 3 “major” parts and a bunch of “tie-ins” (how many depends on how many ideas I still have for this pairing)(So, probably a lot)  
> It is canon-compliant if you squint and set during the very last episode. I made up most of Edward's and some of Thomas' backstory from scratch.  
> Now, enjoy! (Staying true to my habits, it starts with a poem)

_Be near me when my light is low,_

_When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick_

_And tingle; and the heart is sick,_

_And all the wheels of Being slow._

 

_Be near me when the sensuous frame_

_Is rack'd with pains that conquer trust;_

_And Time, a maniac scattering dust,_

_And Life, a Fury slinging flame._

_(Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Poem 50, 1850)_

 

November 1925

The street-lights reflect in the puddles and paint the shadows blacker than night. London has ceased to be busy in these late hours. Thomas has always liked the city best this way – at rest, washed by rain, the streets empty. It reminds him of his childhood in Manchester, roaming around to escape his father and the stuffy cramped apartment above the clock-shop where he and his five siblings had two beds to share between them and the constantly noisy neighbours to live with. The only calm to be found was outside at night, between the cobblestones, the blackened walls and the sky tinted with smoke. It has always helped to get away from the noise.

But it isn't working today, because the noise is in Thomas' head, has been ever since he had woken up after the 'bathtub-incident' (as Andy likes to call it) to Phyllis Baxter holding his hand more tenderly than he deserved. He feels like he is constantly on the verge of tears and everything sets his nerves on edge. Maybe it is a good thing then that he has left Downton and found a place in a much smaller house with no commotion and no drama, just two boring old people – at least that's what Thomas keeps telling himself. This visit to London is the first thing remotely close to interesting that has happened since he started his job. Now he is walking the streets and wonders what he's even doing; where is he going? Why did he get on an Underground train and go to the end of the line in the first place? He stops in front of a cinema and considers the options – _The Lost World_ and _The Man Who Found Himself_ – but dismisses the idea quickly. Snippets of music and conversation drift out of a pub as he passes the door. He could go in before closing time and get a bit too drunk, but the thought of so many people in one place makes him feel slightly sick. Also, it would be a dangerous step towards an old habit, one he had given up way back when he was young, the first time he had left Downton, just at the start of the Great War.

A disconcertingly regular tapping sound breaks Thomas out of his thoughts and he suddenly feels uneasy out on his own alone in the dark – a sentiment that is quite new to him. But it's fine after a moment, there's only a blind man crossing the street behind him. It's funny, Thomas muses, how he kind of looks like Edward from a distance. Carries himself with the same pride and quiet dignity Lieutenant Courtenay had always kept up as a façade, presumably so he would not start crying and never stop again. There is even the same little twitchy motion of his head as he crosses the street; Edward always did that when he tried to get himself to concentrate. Thomas has thought about his old friend more often than before in recent months, in his lowest moments. Without noticing it, he has drawn closer to the man just as he is about to turn a corner and he catches a glimpse … of scars around clouded eyes, a cynical touch to his lips and pale, handsome features … but it can't be. This young soldier died in 1917, this must be a dream, a mirage imposed by Thomas' shaky brain as an expression of his loneliness. Edward is dead – while Thomas never saw any actual proof of that, he saw the blood on the floor, noticed the way everyone was not talking about it, heard the nurses whisper “suicide”.

“Who's there?” The question cuts through the damp night air and, bloody Hell, it is him. He has stopped and turned around, one hand gripping something in his pocket, the other holding his cane tensely. “Who are you and why are you following me?”

He has been following, Thomas notices, without wanting to. Words seem to get stuck in his mouth until he manages: “Lieutenant Courtenay. Sir” Why it's that and not his Christian name, Thomas doesn't know.

“No-one has called me that in a long time” A sad shadow crosses his face and it bites a chunk out of Thomas' heart like it is 1917 again and they're just back from the front.

“Do … d'you remember me? Edward?” What does he even want the answer to be?

Edward's guarded look turns into that endearing puzzled frown and there goes another chunk of Thomas' heart. “Thomas Barrow?” He takes half a step back, like he is getting ready to run as fast as he can. “This must be a dream”

“I'm not sure” So, what now? How do you tell someone you've been mourning him for eight years? Someone, if Thomas is being honest with himself, he hardly ever knew. “It must be, because … because you're dead, actually”

“Is that what they told you? Well, I'm not dead. The cut wasn't as bad as it had first looked. And I had no idea you thought so”

“Everybody thought so, I guess. Except the people who saw you leave the hospital alive” When Thomas came out of his shock, every trace of Edward was gone, like he had never been there. Why didn't anyone tell the truth? Why did they not say: 'Lieutenant Courtenay has been sent to another place, but I can't tell you where', at least? Anything would have been better than believing him dead, grieving for him without a grave to visit, just a war memorial with different names on it and a chill in Thomas' bones every time he stepped inside the hospital.

“I'm sorry”, Edward whispers and it makes Thomas mad. It was anyone's fault but his. “I wanted to find you, you know. But it never worked out”

Thomas attempts to wade through the million things he wants to say to him. 'Don't apologize', 'What happened?' or even 'How are you?'. None of that comes out. “What are you even doing here? In the middle of the night …”

“I'm on my way home … Let's walk, it is getting quite chilly”

Thomas has always found that curiosity is one of his qualities and he doesn't even make an effort to stop himself. “So, what have you been up to? What was your life like after you vanished from Downton?”

“It was nothing much … Not much of a life. After I … well, after _that night_ I did go to Farley Hall, as planned. Once they had quite finished with me, I had to go to prison. You'd think they had better things to do in those years than prosecuting a man for attempted suicide, but apparently they didn't. That's where … I tried it again. Tried to hang myself, to be precise. Of course that only added to my sentence”A lot of things may have changed but Edward is still honest to an almost compulsive degree.

“I'm so sorry to hear that. None of it is fair”

Edward looks like he wants to disagree but he checks himself. “It was stupid of me, really, to try it in the prison where I risked to be found, instead of waiting until I got out and hang myself in the woods somewhere, but I suppose I wasn't thinking straight. Locked up in my own head for far too long” He says it like he is talking about the weather, with so much indifference, it is hard to bear. “I was sent to a mental institution after that. I don't remember much about that time, nor the year after that, until, well … my family disinherited me, so the estate could go to Jack without any kind of compensation for me”

“Wait, is that even possible?” Thomas doesn't know much about inheritance laws, but he remembers a fair bit from when it was the big subject at Downton, before Lady Mary had married Mr. Crawley. He is quite sure once the terms of inheritance have been fixed, it's not so easy to completely skip the intended heir in favour of another. He also remembers that the Courtenays are one of those landed gentry families without a title who had struck it rich. Very rich, if public knowledge is to be believed.

“No-one thought it was possible until they found a loophole in the documents. There was this bit about the first-born _lawful_ son… So, my father officially denied parenthood and had me declared an illegitimate child”

“What ?!” Thomas can hardly believe any family could be so cold and ruthless. Not even his own father would go that far. But then, he isn't the heir to any great riches and an estate in Hampshire. Edward's father must really, truly hate him, but for what reason Thomas can't imagine.

“I know, it's a load of rubbish, anyone who saw us standing next to each other could have told you that. But I _was_ born only seven months after their wedding and when my mother died, she apparently left a letter that said I was the result of an affair with an impoverished French gentleman. Of course there is no way for me to tell if the letter was a forgery after her death or if she wrote it herself just for this purpose. I do know it's not true, though, and so does everyone else. But there is nothing to be done now. All ties have been cut” His indifference seems to waver a bit.

“Nothing? Can you not get a lawyer and challenge it?” Or maybe Thomas could go and work at the Courtenays' house and make their lives a living hell …

Edward shakes his head with that fond smile Thomas has missed so much without realising. “I know you're big on fighting, Thomas, but it is over. And I'd rather not stir up the dust again. I want to be at peace and make a life for myself”

“Of course, and you will” They walk in silence for a minute until Thomas can't hold the thought in any longer. “You were injured fighting for King and Country. I cannot believe your family did all this, just because you're blind. It's outrageous” And even if they didn't want to give him a piece of the estate, wouldn't it be the decent thing to do to allow him a little something just so he didn't starve?

“It's not just because of that. There were always … problems. But it is a nice little excuse paired with my apparent _insanity_ , enough reason to cast me off. The family's reputation could survive _this_ scandal, they knew that”

“I'm so sorry” Thomas knows he is repeating himself, but it is true. Edward's life is like an endless pile of misfortunes and he wishes he could do anything to make it better.

“Ah, it's quite alright. In fact, without the shadow of family over my head, I sleep a little easier. And with the way things stand for estates and landowners, who knows, maybe it is better in the end to be shot of all that stuff and the responsibility” As far as Thomas can still read him, he has really come to terms with it and isn't just saying this to put on a good face. Still, he has lost his family and that is bound to hurt in some way. Thomas should know, he went through a similar break-up with his father and siblings before he left Manchester.

“But how … how do you even provide for yourself?”

Edward pulls up his shoulders and looks surprisingly self-conscious at the question. “Do you remember how you told me back then to come up with something I always thought I could do with my eyes closed and just give it a go? For me, it turned out, that thing is playing the piano. So, that's what I do. At clubs and bars and everywhere that will pay. I sit in the shadows at the back so no-one will notice I'm different … Imagine that, me being a piano-player. Everyone who knew me before would never believe it … And I inherited a house on a tropical island from my father's uncle a few years ago which pays a little rent. That's the only steady source of money. Also, seeing as I speak French, I've been trying to make a name for myself as a translator”

“And how is that turning out?” It sounds like he is largely living on chance, odds and ends. In fact, his coat is quite threadbare and he could do with a new pair of shoes and a haircut.

“I get by. Barely, but I do. Suppose I'm one of the lucky ones … Enough about me, what about you? How has life treated you, _Corporal Barrow_?”

“Well ...” How to summarize a life wasted on mistreating others and futile schemes to improve his own position? Preferably without looking bad in front of the man who still haunts his dreams … “I took the long way round back to being a servant at Downton Abbey after the war. There were ups and downs, of course, but I worked there until a few months ago. I'm a butler now, in a small house near York”

“Come on, you can give away a little more than that, can't you?” Naturally, Edward has noticed that there is more to the story.

“That's all there is to say about it, I'm afraid” Or rather, all he can say without breaking down in the middle of the street.

“Sounds like you've found some stability in life, then. There's something to be said for that. But … you always struck me as a man who would completely re-invent himself after the war. You know, like what they call the American Dream nowadays”

It hurts, though Edward surely doesn't mean it to. Yes, Thomas could have been much more than this, had he taken a different turn here and there. He had tried and failed back in 1918 and fallen back on the only thing he knew how to do. With the way the world is changing, who knows how long that will still last. “None of that, no. The closest I got to the American Dream was by going to America once, a few years ago”

“What was it like?” He still has that way of asking questions with undivided attention, like a man who wants to gather as much knowledge about the world as possible.

“It was like stepping into the future with all those tall skyscrapers, lots of cars and the fancy clothes. And then there were the parties with illegal booze and jazz music, if you knew where to find them” Supposedly, there were also poverty, crime and racism, but Thomas had never really witnessed any of that up close.

“Did you enjoy the time there?”

“I did, yes. I especially liked the music and the dancing”

“I bet you were a real favourite with the ladies with your British accent and your good manners” Edward grins and Thomas has a hard time ignoring how that still makes his heart stumble.

“Actually, they had trouble understanding me, sometimes” And of course, he didn't have his sights set on the ladies, but he doesn't say that.

“Oh yes, your dialect is definitely a challenge for someone who's never heard it before”

“One of the good things about being at home is that people understand you. And if they don't, you know it's not a language problem … What about you? Do you ever travel, to France or somewhere?” Thomas remembers Edward telling him about having relatives there.

“Afraid not. There's no-one to come with me and I'd never find my way alone in a foreign place. None of my friends are the travelling type or have the money to do it. Neither have I, most of the time … I haven't been out of London ever since I moved here five years ago”

“Don't you ever visit your old home?”

Edward shakes his head with a pained expression. “I can feel the rejection as soon as I set one foot onto my family's estate … The housekeeper writes to me now and again, just to keep me informed – I always got along well with her – but of course no-one must know about it and she can't write openly about anything, because someone has to read it to me. The rest of the remaining people I got along with are too loyal to my father. And I hear from my sister sometimes”

“I never knew you had a sister” The only person frequently mentioned had been his brother Jack.

“Her name is Florence. She was just a girl when I left home and by the time I returned, she was gone. Only came back once for mother's funeral. She got married to some baronet or other and has two children. I wish I could meet her again just to … check for myself how she's getting on, but she's too afraid to come see me and everyone would know if I visited her”

“Your father must be … a fearsome man”

A dark look crosses Edward's face. “Quite … And there's no-one else left. What few friends I had back there, have died in the war or left and gone to far away places”

“You should visit me up North one day. The fresh air might do you good” And Thomas means it. He wants to show Edward his home, as far as he can, wants to share it with him.

“I would like that”

There is something on Edward's mind, Thomas can tell just from the way he holds his shoulders. It's strange how well you can get to know someone in such a short time and still know them after so many years. He ponders about how to ask him what it is without being too forward, when Edward tells him of his own accord.

“I was awfully sad to hear about Lady Sybil”

Of course, that had to come up sooner or later. “Yes, it was a terrible shock. No-one expected it” And Thomas is sure no-one will ever completely get over it. He had only recently plucked up the courage to visit her grave for the first time and had put flowers on it right before he'd left Downton. For a brief moment, Thomas wonders if Lady Sybil knew Edward was alive, but he realises it doesn't matter anymore. “Her daughter is a dear little girl, always trying to cheer everyone up, always full of new ideas”

“Sounds like she's a wonderful child … How I would love to meet her”

“Seeing as I don't work there anymore, that could be a bit of a problem” It hurts the most to think about the children. He thought he'd see them grow up and now he probably won't.

“You sound as if you miss her”

“I do. I miss everyone, really. Miss the place and the memories” Thomas knows it is selfish but in that moment he is relieved that Edward can't see his face.

“I understand what it's like to have your home taken away. Try not to let that defeat you and make a new one in a new place. You did it once, there's no reason why you shouldn't be able to do it again”

They walk on for a minute or so, until Thomas realises how much time has passed since they'd met. He'd been so busy trying to wrap his head around the situation that he'd quite lost track of his surroundings. “Speaking of homes: You live really far off, don't you?” Or maybe they're lost. It must take a lot of concentration for Edward to find his way around and talk at the same time, even if he knows the area well.

“Not really”, he mumbles and blushes a little, “We've walked in the same circle three times already”

What? Thomas doesn't know what to do, so he laughs. “Whatever for?”

“I'm not ready to let you go and I'm afraid I'll have to, once we're at my door” He seems torn between turning away and coming closer.

“Edward”, Thomas whispers, his heart breaking a bit, wanting to take his hand, then grasping his arm instead, “D'you really think I'll let you leave again, just like that? Come on, let's go, it's getting cold out here. We can make tea and talk some more”

“Alright, fine … I just hope you won't find the place too pathetic. I've never seen it, so I couldn't tell” That's classic Edward Courtenay.

“I'm not one to judge, seeing as I've never had a place of my own to speak of, so I don't care much”

“Neither do I, really. I'm happy I found this one and that I don't have to share it closely with a bunch of other people. But compared to what you're used to and to the place I grew up in, it probably looks like a broom closet”

They stop in the middle of a slightly battered-looking Victorian terraced street. It takes Thomas a moment to make out the next house in the lamplight and he is startled when he realises why. Half of the front is missing, doubtlessly bombed out during the war. He wonders if Edward knows that's his neighbourhood. The staircase is very dimly-lit by flickering gaslights and it leaves Thomas with the imprint of the house next door in the back of his eyes, empty holes where windows used to be and ribbons of wallpaper swinging in the light breeze.

Edward leads him into an apartment on the second floor.

“There is electric light, but the power's been out for a few days, I'm afraid. Wait there a moment” Thomas hears him bustle about and seconds later, he can take a lit candle in a lantern from his hands. “I try to maintain the place on my own, but the woman from downstairs comes in almost every day and helps me a bit. She's lost her husband and both her sons in the war, so naturally, when she heard my story, she took to me”

“It's good to know you're not left to fend for yourself” Actually, it is a huge relief. Thomas remembers how appalled Edward had been by the thought of having to rely on the goodwill of others for the rest of his life. Being fiercely independent, it must have felt like cruel and unusual punishment. Thomas knows it would feel like that for himself.

“Oh no, she's very kind. Sometimes, I feel like I'm taking advantage of her” Edward puts his keys and the other things he'd been keeping in his pocket on the table behind the door. Upon closer inspection Thomas recognises them as a pair of tinted glasses and a flip-knife, the latter being the thing Edward was holding on to so tightly when he thought he was being followed, which is no wonder. The implications of it twist Thomas' heart, but Edward's voice snaps him out of it. “Please feel right at home and make more light if you need any. There are more candles by the door. I'll just take care of the fire”

It is fascinating to watch Edward move around so securely and Thomas has the opportunity to check out the apartment at the same time. While he doesn't find it pathetic, there is something generally destitute and run-down about the place. It's cold indeed, not big, quite clean and meticulously tidy – which of course it would be. How would Edward ever find anything he misplaced? There is a single door in the back that probably leads to a bedroom, a reasonable amount of furniture and, to Thomas' surprise, a wireless that's taking up a whole corner.

Edward has finished his work on the fire. “I suppose you've spotted my only luxury. It took me quite a while to save up the money for it, but it was absolutely necessary if I want to keep in touch with the music of today … All the rest isn't really mine. The tenant before me left the furniture and even a pile of books, although I couldn't begin to imagine what to do with them” He indicates a little bookshelf in a corner with maybe a dozen books left in it. “I don't have the heart to throw them away but I don't know anyone who likes reading to give them to, either. I don't even know what they are”

Thomas picks one at random. “Well, this is a first edition of Treasure Island, for example”

“Really? I loved that story when I was a boy”

“Me, too. Made me want to go off on an adventure. I used to ramble along the canals, dreaming about becoming a sailor on the great wide seas” Those were easier times, when he was an innocent and his world was confined between home and the canal.

“Why didn't you?”

“I soon found out, I got seasick easily. So that was that” Thomas had almost forgotten about that but the knowledge had been refreshed on the trip to America. Soon, maybe, flying would become common and affordable to the likes of him and he could travel somewhere without setting foot on a boat. Not that he'd ever get the time off to travel, but a man could dream. “There are no more pirates, anyway”

“There are probably more of them on dry land these days. I would know, I often hang around the docks hoping that someone might need a translator”

“Isn't that dangerous?”

“A bit. They've come to know me around there, so there's people looking out for me. The trick is, never to have much on you that anyone would want to steal and to hide the money as soon as you get it. The only thing that's ever been taken from me was a bottle of Jamaican rum, sadly, I would have liked to try that. It was a present from a port authority worker. Speaking of which -”, he opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle, “How would you like some wine instead of tea? At least, I hope it's wine. A French captain gave it to me”

Thomas takes the bottle from his hands and it is indeed a posh white wine, the sort he used to serve to Lord Grantham. “That sounds good. I'll open it and find some glasses”

“The fire's coming along, too, I think” The small coal stove is starting to give off a soothing heat that spreads through the tiny room quickly and Edward takes their overcoats back into a dark corner behind the door to hang them up.

Thomas has found a bottle-opener in one of the neatly ordered drawers and is pouring the wine when he comes back into the small circle of light the candle is casting. “So, translating is a dangerous job, it seems. Or is all your life filled with such perilous business?” He tries to pass it off as a joke but he is genuinely concerned. And a little part of him is also slightly envious about the variety Edward gets in his everyday life. While Thomas tries to come across as self-reliant and adventurous, Edward actually is, at least within the boundaries of his ability.

“Well, some of my piano gigs are in places you wouldn't take your sister to, I suppose”

Places that have taught him fancy modern words like “gig” and make him speak with a distinct London accent when he talks about them, Thomas notices. “And that doesn't scare you one bit?”

“Not really. Whenever anything seems dodgy to me, I ask the boy from upstairs to come with me. He doesn't mind, he's nineteen, quite strong and can run faster than me, so he's not in any danger. And I pay him”

“You roam around London's back streets with a kid for a bodyguard …”

Edward looks a bit caught out and bites his lip. “It does sound a tad mental if you put it like that … Come on, Thomas. You can't tell me you never do anything risky”

“Not like that, no” He usually doesn't do anything risky by choice – taking on a new job, trying to cure himself of his dangerous inclinations … going to war – it has always been forced on him by circumstance or said dangerous inclinations and passions he could not control. What happens next has always been dictated by his sense of self-preservation. He doesn't want to start wondering what it says about Edward that he goes to places like these voluntarily and without much thought for his personal safety. Instead, he puts the wine bottle and the glasses on the coffee table and they sit down on the small couch.

“So, what are we drinking to? Coincidence?”, Edward asks.

“I like the sound of that. To coincidence” The wine is really quite good but quite strong, too, Thomas can tell after one sip.

They settle on the couch and Edward puts his hand on Thomas' arm and just leaves it there. It's such an unusual and unexpectedly intimate thing to do that Thomas asks, startled, without wanting to: “What are you doing?” He can't blame it on the wine, he hasn't had enough of that, yet.

“I'm sorry. I used to be a proper English gentleman, but ever since I've been blind … I tend to touch people when I talk to them” Edward wants to pull his hand away, but Thomas holds it in place.

“No, it's alright. I'm not objecting” On the contrary, it's comforting to feel those beautiful warm fingers again, but dangerous, oh so dangerous, for Thomas' shaky composure. He still can't quite believe that Edward is alive and sitting there, so close that Thomas can not only sense his hand but his whole presence.

They talk about London life for a while, but there is something like a threat hanging in the air between them and when Thomas sees it coming, it's too late to pull his arm away. His sleeve has moved up just a bit, exposing the end of one of the scars that still feel raw and itchy on a rainy cold night like tonight. He doesn't have time to wonder if it's accidental or not when Edward's fingers graze the inside of his wrist and he knows it won't matter now. It takes a second to register with him but when Edward realises what he has just found out, he stops dead.

“What's that? Please tell me, it's not … what I think it is”, he whispers, his voice failing, face showing a mixture of shock, confusion and something Thomas can't quite place.

“I'm afraid it is” Thomas wonders if the quiver in his own voice is only in his head, if he is trembling inside or outside or possibly both. He doesn't dare move, the light pressure of Edward's fingertips is enough to tell him it wouldn't be the right thing to do until the other man has somewhat collected himself.

“Why did you …? And when?” His voice is still barely a whisper, he hesitates for a moment, waiting for Thomas to object, before he opens his cuff and pushes the sleeve out of the way.

“It was last summer … Didn't want to live anymore, it's as simple as that” There is static radio noise in Thomas' head, blocking all directional thought.

“It's never as simple as that” Edward brings up his own arm and pulls away the sleeve, his scar has faded with the years but it's still prominently visible, a straight line white on white, cutting through the blue lifelines underneath. His fingers shake as he follows both cuts carefully; they're almost a perfect parallel. “They're always cold, have you noticed? Like … like life ran out of them and never returned”

“I hadn't noticed” Thomas is painfully aware of his heartbeat under the ruined skin and it is threatening to take him back to that moment in the bath when only desperation had guided his hands.

Edward breaks the spell and pulls away with a deep breath before either of them starts falling apart. “I am sorry. Didn't mean to make you feel bad, it just overwhelmed me”

“It's fine, I understand. You need … some sort of proof that you're not the only one who's ever had a death wish, don't you? That you're not alone”

“You're not alone, either. You know that, right?”

No, Thomas is not alone now. But will that help when he walks out the door later, as he knows he must? He wants to take Edward's hand again but he doesn't dare.

“If you want to … It's a relief to talk about these things and we can speak honestly and freely with each other. We're way past any social boundaries anyway, don't you think?”, Edward says.

“Yes, I … That would be … I'd want to but …” Thomas realises he has never really talked about it. It has all stayed inside and eaten at him like a steady flame. And, really, he wants to talk, wants to release, confess, explain and whatever else, but there is no way he can just start speaking now, even if this is Edward, the only person who could potentially understand. For one, he doesn't even know where the start is. He has never felt actually uncomfortable talking about emotions or listening to people talk about them, unlike most Englishmen. But of course, through lack of practice, he hasn't learned how to do it properly and how to find the words.

Therefore, he is grateful when Edward takes the first step. “Will it make it easier for you, if I begin? But you know why I did it, don't you? It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, both times. There was no hope, I couldn't see the future. It had never been very clear and bright to me but suddenly it was all gone, my whole life” He speaks about it as soberly as he did earlier but there is so much more sadness evident in his voice and on his face now that they're in the safety of his apartment. “And I didn't have the strength to go on alone, my family rejected me, all my friends were gone. I just couldn't see the point in carrying on. I still can't”

“Oh, Edward …” Through the static noise and the weight of his own emotions, Thomas can feel concern for his long-lost friend. And suddenly it becomes clear to him why everyone at the hospital had been so quick to sweep the events surrounding Edward's 'death' under the rug: They were afraid that giving up was contagious.

“Don't worry. I won't try anything. I'm strong enough to do this, I know that now”

“I do understand exactly what you mean. What it's like to feel useless and hopeless. And not only that – I was a nuisance to everyone around and they made it quite clear they'd be better off without me. And I agreed with them. I had done terrible things and deliberately made their lives harder when there was no point in doing so … And when I tried to do better it was too late. It was like my life was forfeit” It was after that dreadful treatment he'd put himself through after Jimmy left, which, if nothing else, had raised his self-awareness and prompted him to change his ways, but he had used up all his credit with the world by then. Really, it's a miracle that he had still lasted so long afterwards. What had eventually pushed him over the edge was the fact that everyone else seemed to get happier and luckier, even Mr. Molesley, or the fairy of bad luck Lady Edith and that Mr. Pelham who went from fortuneless Nobody to one of the highest-ranking Lords in the North, while Thomas was still floundering about where he'd been seven years ago, none the richer and none the wiser.

“Once your bridges have been burnt, it's hard to redeem yourself” It seems, Edward is speaking from experience on that matter as well. Thomas suspects he is thinking about his brother.

“That's right” This is something he had learned much too late in life.

“But why did you do all these things in the first place?”

It's still new for Thomas that someone is genuinely interested in his feelings and his motives and he struggles to answer the question. “I don't know. Jealousy, perhaps” That one seems to be his favourite sin, even if he wishes it were otherwise. And then there were some things he did without ever finding out the reason himself. “Sometimes, I think I just did it to occupy my evil mind”

“And … did it make you feel better?”

“No. Honestly, it made me feel terrible and then I had to go and take that out on someone and do it all again” Until it was too late and there was no way he could convince anyone he could be anything else than mean even for a moment and could do anything without ulterior motives. (Except maybe Phyllis Baxter, but she is truly different, he knows that now) It was hard enough to convince himself, even.

“It breaks my heart to think of you in such a dark place … Why do you hate yourself so much? You're a good person, Thomas” There is a tone in Edward's voice that rather reminds him of Phyllis a bit.

“Sorry, but you haven't known me for very long, not really. For most of my life I've been an arrogant bastard” It all haunts him, yet the things that weren't his usual quest for improving his own position no matter the cost, but plain spite, are the ones that most frequently emerge from the darkness.

“Well, you were always kind to everyone when I knew you”

“Caught me on a good day” It is true. If Edward had been around longer, sooner or later he would've seen through and recognised Thomas for what he is. It might still happen although Thomas fancies himself a better man now. The last year really did a number on him. Or maybe … 'I was never so much afraid _of_ you as for you … Seeing what you had become when you'd always been such a sweet boy', Phyllis had said some time in the days after the bathtub-incident when she had done most of the talking and Thomas had been busy not crying and collecting the pieces in his head.

“Maybe what?”, Edward asks and Thomas realises he's said at least that word out loud.

“Maybe it is the other way round and that person you met at the hospital is the real me” If he had a conscious choice, it would be.

“Or maybe it's simply both. Everyone has a dark side”

“Do you? Have a dark side, I mean”

Edward shrugs, but he doesn't avoid the question, which speaks well of him in Thomas' opinion. “I can be pretty stubborn and I've been known to lose my temper when I get impatient. Usually, impatient with myself – and I used to take it out on others. My brother, in particular. I don't do that now; I learned to be less harsh on myself and others”

“I don't think I can change like that. I'll always go back to my old ways and ruin everything in the end …” Of course he would like to be better, and he tries very hard, but he is also realistic.

“You don't know that” Edward's confidence is really touching but Thomas feels like he is deceiving him and will disappoint him eventually.

“But I do. I've come so far that I recognise it when it happens and I stand there and watch, like it's happening to someone else. It's like a circle without escape and I thought the only escape was dying, but that didn't quite work out” Thomas feels rather naked, admitting these things, but at the same time it's alright because he knows that Edward won't judge him. He doesn't really know him well, but that much he is certain about.

“Dying didn't work out, but how about the escape? Did it help you a bit to get away from there?”

“Not really. Downton was my home and I had to leave it, instead of making good on past mistakes, like I wanted. And they all sort of pretended everything was fine and they would actually miss me but I think they were just still shocked. It's quite drastic, slitting your wrists, as you well know, and by then I suppose they all knew about it. They didn't want it on their conscience if I tried again”

“And why haven't you … tried again?” Edward sounds as if he is afraid of the answer.

“I … I made a promise” More than one, actually.

“That's as good a reason to carry on as any, I guess”

“What about you?” Thomas really needs to know this, so he'll know if he has to worry.

“I'm too afraid of failing again. Not sure that's a good reason” He turns a bit and Thomas imagines he can still see the marks the rope left on his neck all those years ago.

“Not better or worse than mine” Alright, he worries. It sounds like Edward will end it all at the first good opportunity and leave Thomas alone again. He isn't sure if he could bear that – again.

Edward smiles bitterly. “Sad, isn't it? That neither of us can say with any confidence: I've decided to give life another go”

“Very sad. But maybe we will one day” One day, if that harsh feeling of hopelessness ever goes away.

“Maybe one day – I'll drink to that”

When Thomas fills their glasses again, he notices the bottle is going on half empty already. He wonders if that's the reason why he is so light-headed or if it is due to all the unfamiliar honesty of the night so far. In a strange way, it feels good, talking about these dark things and letting his thoughts out more or less unchecked. It makes him remember something he'd heard Mrs. Crawley say to Lady Sybil at some point: _“If you can't say what you think, then what's the use in thinking?”_ She'd never mentioned how exhausting it is, though. Or how terrifying, like walking out onto a frozen lake, waiting for the cracks to appear underneath your feet. But before he gets lost in that image, Edward speaks again.

“There's something else on your mind, I can tell. Just say it, don't be afraid”

Thomas wonders how he can tell, because he's right. Something has been bothering him from the start. “Why _did_ your family disinherit you? I'd like to understand”

Edward hesitates for the first time. “I trust you, Thomas. I trust that no part of this conversation will leave this room”

“Of course not … You can tell me everything, there are few things that can shock me” Even if it might be something as dishonourable as a murder attempt on his brother …

Edward takes a deep breath and sits up straight. “I'm not a normal man, that's what it comes down to, in the end”

“What do you mean?” There's no room for misunderstandings here.

“I … I prefer the company of men. You know, in matters of love and all that … stuff like that – I'll never forget the day I told my parents. I was eighteen, very naïve about these things and madly in love with one of our tenant farmers' sons. We'd grown up together and were the best of friends. I told them I'd never marry a woman even if my life depended on it”

Thomas can't breathe or think for a moment. Can this really be happening? But he mustn't ponder too long, mustn't let Edward think his silence is rejection, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Did he feel the same about you, your friend?” Suddenly, it seems incredibly important that Edward had known love.

“He did, actually” A tender smile crosses his face like the brush of a feather.

“What was he called?”

“David. He's dead now. Shot, storming a trench, before I even got to the front” Thomas wants to say something, anything that will comfort him but the words get stuck in his throat. “Anyway, when I told my parents – committed Catholics, let's not forget that – and saw the looks on their faces, I knew I'd just made my life infinitely harder. Destroyed it, really. And they knew I was going to shout it from the rooftops if I ever felt I had to. I was ready to challenge all of society. So, that's why they did what they did”

“I never told my parents”, Thomas blurts out and almost feels uncomfortable because Edward's full attention is suddenly focussed on him, even more so than before. He's never said it so outright. “Somehow, they just knew. And it's like they always knew, before I'd ever … done anything” This time, he is certainly dizzy because of his words and he decides to go on, now that he's at it. “There was a time when I tried to … cure myself of it. It made me ill, but nothing else” For a while, he'd believed that it had worked, but he soon realised that he'd only lost interest in other men because he was too preoccupied with the darkness in his soul.

“Oh, Thomas” Edward takes his hands again, visibly shocked by one of those revelations though Thomas couldn't tell which one. “My dear, there's nothing that needs curing. Although I admire your strength for trying. And I understand, I really do”

“Do you? You seem so confident about … that side of you” Thomas used to be like that, too, until the pressure of this burden had got the better of him.

“I've known how happy I can be, if only for a short time. How could that be wrong, if it feels so good? I do believe there are sins, but I don't believe this is one of them. And if it is, it's too late anyway and we might as well spend the remainder of our time on earth in such happiness. We're only given one life. It's sad to think that society forced you to believe otherwise … Speaking of society: I've got all the high-born daughters' hearts I had to break on my conscience, I can tell you that”

“They tried to pressure you into marriage?” Thomas can literally see every country gentleman for a hundred miles inviting himself and his daughter to tea or dinner at the Courtenays' house. They may not be aristocracy but they're certainly high-ranking and traditional enough to make a respectable match. The money would make up for any lack of title.

“They did, as soon as I was old enough. And I'm not saying I couldn't have loved a woman, in some way, given time and a chance to figure things out by myself. I'm sure lots of people like us live that way – properly married in public, but carrying on with _the other thing_ in private. If they can do that, that's fine. But I couldn't lead one of the nice, honest girls down the garden-path just because it was expected and live a second life with a man behind the scenes, or go to the more disreputable parts of the city now and then when the impulse strikes. That, to me, would've been closer to sin than what I was doing with David. I want to love someone, and I want to do it properly” Is this a sign of having integrity or of being headstrong? Thomas doesn't know, he only knows that he likes it. He tries not to linger on Edward's relation to the disreputable parts of the city and if he's actually ever been there for too long; there'll be plenty of opportunity to talk about that another time and find out why they'd never met there in all those years.

“It never occurred to me to take up with a woman for appearance. And in the end, it wouldn't change anything” The problem would still be there and Thomas would still be in the same dangerous position. Maybe, if he had chosen a different career – one that didn't stand or fall with his reputation – and if he were actually capable of doing things by halves, it would be less complicated. “I suppose you'd feel neither here nor there. You'd still be doing something illegal in addition to being unfaithful to your wife”

“Exactly. So I'd rather have an honest relationship, even if it has to be a secret. What I had with David was certainly more real than my parents' arranged marriage, which made them unhappy all their lives … And also, don't these things change? Remember, twenty or even ten years ago, divorce was seen as a major social offence and nowadays everybody seems to get one. Or remember how men and women weren't allowed to spend even one minute alone together, let alone touch, before they got married. From what I gather, people are kissing in the streets these days and no-one is being struck dead by lightning because of it”

“That's different, they're men _and_ women. People … people like us won't be accepted like that, at least not in our lifetime” Thomas can't decide if it is a good or a bad feeling to be talking about this. To use the word 'us' in the context makes him shiver, that much he knows.

“Probably not. But there is hope for the future, if not for us”

“So, despite all your optimistic talking, does this mean you've given up on finding love?”

All of Edward's fervour disappears like a shooting-star. “I can't go back to prison … It's hard to truly read someone if you can't see them. And then I'd have to completely rely on him to keep the secret … Also, I loved David, I really did, it has taken me years to get over his death and I couldn't do anything like that ever again”

“I understand. You put risk up against reward and risk wins”

“It's more like, you have to take the risk before you know if there will even be a reward. Isn't it the same for you, or is there anyone special in your life right now?” There is a strange sort of hopefulness in Edward's voice Thomas doesn't dare think about.

“There isn't; hasn't been for a long time” He isn't even sure if the brief affair in New York counts, after all it had been clear from the start that it wouldn't last longer than his stay in America. He'd liked the guy a lot but it was only a break from the tension and the loneliness, a bit of fun, nothing more. And before (and after) that – “There was Jimmy. But of course he didn't feel the same, which is just my kind of luck. The whole thing was a train-wreck. I was careless because I was … lonely. It was not long after Lady Sybil's death, too. It almost cost me my livelihood. And my freedom ”

“What happened?”

“He was a footman at Downton and I was very struck with him from the start, from the moment I first saw him, really … And I was bold, I flirted with him, he didn't object because he thought it would be good for his position in the household. Then, I was made to believe he liked me in that way and I did one of the most stupid things in my life: I kissed him while he was asleep” It sounds terribly dense, summed up like this.

“Oh, no. How did he take it?”

“Not well. Not least because another footman walked in at that moment. Jimmy then blackmailed the butler to sack me without a reference. He was put up to it, I know he was, and I was going to be cast into the street with no future … But then a man I considered my enemy saved me and I eventually got to stay on. Which wasn't what he'd had in mind, but there you go” Thomas is ashamed to admit it in front of himself, but that was the first time he had ever felt like giving up. Then the insufferably noble Mr. Bates had stepped in and bailed him out. Thomas will never stop being grudgingly grateful for that. Very grudgingly. It had been so strange, someone helping him, that he didn't really know what to do with it and had suspected there was something else behind it – but if there was, he never found out what.

“That must have been a terrible time for you, thinking you had lost everything … And you went on working with this Jimmy?”

“I did, yes. Got myself beaten up for him once and we became quite good friends after that. Jimmy was way too impulsive for his own good, I tried to keep him out of trouble but it didn't always work. He left about one and a half years ago after an incident with a lady and I never heard from him again”

“Do you miss him?” Edward looks like he is afraid of the answer, but Thomas can't help telling the truth.

“Sometimes I still do. He was funny and full of life and, weirdly enough, the only real friend I had back then” He mustn't count Anna and Phyllis as his friends, not at that time in his life when he had got them both into so much trouble. (And, to this day, he daren't count Mrs. Hughes, although she was always kind to him. She's more of a … mother)

“Romance never worked out for you, did it?”

“Not really, no” There was hardly ever anyone he was really serious about. Long before Jimmy, when Thomas was still very young and very foolish there had been Philip of Crowborough who had broken his heart thoroughly and reduced the remnants of their relationship to a pile of ashes in one minute flat. And somewhere in between was Edward, in the wrong place at the wrong time, swept away just as Thomas realised exactly how serious this was.

“And it sounds like other kinds of relationships didn't, either?”

“Not until recently. I was always … afraid, I guess” Afraid of opening up to anyone about anything and that they might use it against him in the end. And isn't that a big part of real friendship? Being able to drop your guard in the other person's presence … Well, he doesn't have to drop anything anymore when it comes to Anna, Phyllis and Andy, whom he now considers his friends, because they had seen him at his weakest.

This time, when Edward takes his hand, it feels different, more real in a way and more solid. “No- one should have to endure such loneliness for such a long time. But you have friends now and I promise you, it's going to get better”

And Thomas realises, when it comes to Edward, he never really had any guard up that he could drop in the first place. They both never had. And they have been doing nothing but opening up ever since they'd met earlier. That strange feeling of nakedness is really Thomas' true self without the armour he's been putting on for so many years.

“And, just in case you're wondering”, Edward continues, “I count myself among your friends … If that doesn't go too far too fast for you”

“No. No, it doesn't … I always thought of us as friends, from the moment we first met. You needed one, if anyone did … It was compassion for about five minutes and then I realised I really liked you” That was strange, he had later become aware of. Thomas has never been quick to truly let people into his heart and he still wonders what was so special about Edward in that hospital bed in 1917. There were other vulnerable young men, before and after, who touched Thomas, but none of them had had such a profound impact.

“We all needed one in those times. I just wish I'd noticed back then; always thought you were being so nice to me out of a sense of duty” There is real regret on Edward's face.

“Not at all … Would it have changed anything?” This is an interesting thought. What would've happened if Edward had understood then that Thomas was going to stand by him no matter what?

“Maybe. I thought I was completely alone in the world”

“I know the feeling” It seems time to talk about the biggest elephant in the room, a subject they had always avoided the last time, staying up through Thomas' night-shifts and talking through the small hours, talking about everything except this. “Do you ever think about those years?”

“The War, you mean? Not if I can help it”

“Sometimes, I can almost make myself forget it ever happened”, Thomas says. It's true – in his memory, there is a very clear _before_ and an even clearer _afterwards_ but the war itself is a blurred mess of fear-shaped images.

“Like a book missing a chapter ...”, Edward suggests.

“Sort of like that. Like I ripped out the pages and keep them somewhere else. It helps to stay occupied”

“It does. But then there are the nights” In the days when Thomas had known him, Edward had never slept. It was a defence mechanism and it reminded him of people in the old days who used to sleep upright for fear of the devil sitting on their chests. “I still wake up to the sound of grenades in my head. And fireworks scare me half to death every time”

“Sometimes … sometimes, even now, I wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that they'll send me back to the trenches” Thomas has never talked about the war, either. While it was going on, the horrors were still too close and when it had ended and the soldiers were all gone, it wasn't something one brought up in casual conversation. Everyone who had been there didn't want to talk about it and everyone else wouldn't understand. It is hard to find the words, too, to do that hellish place justice.

“Me, too. Very often, in fact. And then I remember everything and that doesn't make it better”

“That doesn't sound like you get much rest” Thomas has blamed it on the dingy lighting and the late hour all this time, but he has realised that Edward doesn't look too well.

“It just seems that every time I let go … every time I let my mind wander, it takes me back there. I get so caught up in it, it's all so very vivid … The last thing I ever saw … were dead people. Some of them, I'd killed. And I keep seeing them … How will this ever stop, Thomas?” There is a pleading tone in Edward's voice at the end and it takes Thomas back to Downton hospital in 1917. _Please don't send me away – not yet._

“I don't know. It probably won't. It'll be a part of us until we die, like a scar. And we have quite a couple of those between us, don't we?” Thomas purposely brings up his other hand, the gloved one, and grasps Edward's. He hopes the other man will understand that it's meant as a sign of trust.

“We do indeed. Visible and invisible ones … I keep wondering why I survived, you know. I had nothing much to go back to, but I came through”, Edward says in a small voice and Thomas can see that, although he has changed profoundly, underneath he is still a lost young man.

“To be honest, I didn't have more or less to go back to. I never really thought about it. All I had was an impeccable survival instinct and a selfish sort of willpower. I just wanted to get it over with and get out of there”

“You don't seem selfish to me. You got injured but you continued to serve at the hospital. I think that says only good things about you”

Yes, that's how Thomas had wanted it to look. “That's not … actually the whole truth. The injury wasn't an accident, I … I deliberately had my hand shot so I could go home” And there they are; just like that, Thomas has revealed his darkest secret.

Edward follows the seams on the glove with his fingertips. “I know”, he says matter-of-factly.

“But – how?” How can anyone know so much about human nature without even seeing the person he talks to?

“No idea. Somehow I always knew. And I don't blame you or judge you or any such thing. I think you were insanely brave. You didn't want to die there, no-one wanted to die, but most men just took it as it came or tried to put it out of their minds entirely and just went for whatever battle was next. Or deserted and ran away. But you lasted for two years until you gathered your tremendous courage and raised your hand. And then you went back home and took care of the wounded, not because you had to, but because you wanted to or maybe because you thought it was the right thing to do … But my judgement may be clouded on this subject, seeing as we never would have met if you hadn't done what you did”

“I'm still ashamed of it, though. I went to war but then I couldn't see it through and bailed out. Knowing myself, I probably would have survived anyway, without doing this. But I had to choose the dishonest path, I always do” The ever-present self-loathing surges up and he washes it away with some more wine.

“It just means your will to live is stronger than anything else. Which kind of puts the thing you did recently in perspective … Besides, we all do things we are ashamed of in wartime” Edward waits for Thomas to ask, but Thomas doesn't. He will not prompt him to say anything he is not ready for – but it seems he is ready after a little mental run-up. “I was promoted to lieutenant after shooting an unarmed man in the back … He was a German deserter, he'd thrown his gun away, was waving a handkerchief and ran right into where we were posted to guard the weapons supplies. I was up front and of course I was supposed to shoot anyone who wasn't an allied soldier, but I was confused and, honestly, too afraid and just froze. When he ran past me, I thought I saw a grenade under his coat and, before giving him the chance to blow us all up, I shot him, point-blank in the back. The grenade turned out to be a little bottle of brandy. My friends decided to put weapons in the man's hands so I wouldn't get into trouble for shooting him and instead of trouble I got a promotion. Which I took without question, of course, instead of being honest and admitting what I'd done” Thomas recognises the same self-loathing on Edward's face that he can feel in his own heart.

“Don't be too hard on yourself. You were afraid and you made a mistake, these things happen. It might have been a trap and he was just pretending to surrender, you weren't to know … Also, I'm sure you didn't get a promotion for shooting one man, there must've been other reasons” Or maybe that's just Thomas' high opinion of Edward speaking.

“I guess there were; I'd been doing a lot of translation work between the British and French troops … But the point is, they treated me like some kind of hero, which I clearly wasn't and sometimes … sometimes I think surviving is a sort of penance for that” These are Edward's deepest thoughts, Thomas can tell by the way he sits back, relieved to have finally said them out loud.

“It might or might not be. But don't you think you've done enough penance for one lifetime? You've reclaimed so much of your life, isn't it time to reclaim your conscience and see surviving as a gift, a second chance? … But then again, I'm one to talk” And there they are back at the principal point. Neither of them really wants to be alive, but they are. Should they be? Who knows.

“No, you're right … This is it, isn't it? The moment we thought would never come … Let's try and give life another go, shall we?”

“Yes … Let's promise to try and take it head on and not throw it away lightly” Thomas is surprised that he actually means it. There is a weird feeling in his heart, a vaguely familiar one. He doesn't know if it's joy or fear or regret, even. Or hope. It might be hope. But what is he hoping for? What _can_ he still hope for?

“That's a promise I can make” They clink their wine glasses like the Americans do and empty them. “You know what we should also do?”, Edward continues, “We should dance”

“I'd like that” As he watches Edward get up and turn the radio on, Thomas can't shake the feeling that he is taking advantage of him and should have stopped him from drinking so much. “You're a bit drunk, aren't you?”

“Little bit. I don't usually drink anything, I like to keep my senses together. But I wanted to be honest with you and sometimes honesty needs a little help … How drunk are you?”

“Not very. But wine always goes to my head” And he really should be leaving, before anything embarrassing happens between them, that head is telling him, but he doesn't listen. “I'm glad we've been honest, alcohol or not”

“Me, too. It's nice not to hold back on one's thoughts for once” Edward offers his hand to Thomas just as if the latter were a lady in a ballroom ten years ago; a slow jazz tune is playing.

They dance, dodging the sparse furniture, slightly awkwardly at first but finding their cadence after a minute. Thomas realises he has never felt so comfortable with anyone. Being entangled in Edward's embrace, feeling his heartbeat and floating carelessly with the music, while London is asleep around them and all their troubles with it, might just be the most natural thing he's done in his adult life. And it fits perfectly into the surreal turn of events of the night.

“I've been living in the dark for so long”, Edward whispers and Thomas knows he isn't talking about being blind.

“So have I” But he is starting to feel a hint of light, just a little line of silver on the horizon of his soul. “We won't lose each other again, will we?”

Edward smiles and Thomas really has to concentrate not to stumble over his own feet. “Are you kidding? There's no force on earth that can make me let you go again”

The hint turns into a burst of light and Thomas feels the old fear, at the same time. One part of him wants to tell Edward that no-one has ever said anything so nice to him and the other part wants to make an inappropriate joke about the excess of emotion. But he has learned from the past, so he says nothing, just pulls Edward closer as they continue to move with the music. This is the only effective way of keeping the demons from the door for tonight.

 


End file.
